Flipping The Script

Boys like you do not like it
When the script is flipped on you.
A woman who leaves is always
A “whore” or a “bitch”—but never the truth.

You asked about me?
What did they tell you?
That I was “always” a “self-serving narcissist”?
Is that really the truth, or just a distorted view?

I did ask about you, though,
People called you “bin painde ka lota,”
And if you stood alone in an election,
Even then, they’d press NOTA.

So, you honestly feel that you hurt my ego?
You could’ve rejected me like a man,
But no, you did it like a coward,
With a sly smile and the words, “Oh, you can’t handle rejection?”

How sad is that?
You affected my health—HEALTH—
And still cried about “dust allergy,”
But your ego needed more—how pathetically true.

Ohh, I did understand that intimacy is important between a woman and man,
And I told you I was molested, but you did not ask me if I was alright or would I be ok?
No, you simply said you have needs and blow job is a deal breaker,
But guys like you call women a gold digger...

I don't need your pity, or your fake apology,
I don't feel sorry for myself because, unlike you, I am still not bitter.
And for calling me a fake?
Your shame was all over your face,
And I thought if I, as a woman, can smile after all that,
Why can't you, as a guy?

Still, you think I am a psychopath?
So you say I am not your dream girl?
That I am delusional and live in a fantasy world?
Honey, you are into fictional women,
And I, on the other hand, am extremely real.

Comments

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.

Polished Sins

A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.

Till You Sing

Some would say men went to war for women like you, But I would still choose war if it meant choosing you. You say you write in amorous lines, But I would let you be the woman of my tribe. You had your adventures Under The Buda Moon, But have you been loved past noon? So I can see you shine like a magical flower, In the quiet warmth of the golden hour. The invisible strings pull at my heart Can I do justice to your name? Caress you right, Till you sing like a Carnatic hymn. Inspired by the author of Under The Buda Moon, Veena Rao

Cruising Alone

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